


That's More Like It

by glowstick_of_destiny



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowstick_of_destiny/pseuds/glowstick_of_destiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gobblepot Week 2015, Day 3: Role Reversal</p><p>(What if Jim was the one with a super obvious crush?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's More Like It

**Author's Note:**

> I skipped day two, but I guess this counts as a scene rewrite, as well.

It's been a rough day. No solid leads, nothing to do. Nothing to make him feel useful. Just five straight hours of shit coffee, a mountain of paper work, and the dull ache of a nasty gash on his hand, a gift from a perp who'd tried using a set of keys as a crude substitute for brass knuckles. 

"Friend here to see you," Harvey says at his elbow, jerking his head towards the doorway. Jim follows his gaze. Sees Oswald fucking Cobblepot a few yards away.

Oswald. Here. At the precinct. It surprises a full body flail out of him, sends his pen careening over two desks and straight into another cop. Makes him lose the balance he's struck with one leg against the desk, leaning back in his chair. Sends said chair crashing to the floor, and nearly tips him out of it in the process.

Jesus. 

And with his luck, Oswald probably saw the whole damn thing. Oh, good. Now he's meeting Jim's eyes, smiling. 

He can feel a headache coming on and Oswald's been here all of thirty seconds. And at the same time, his heart rate's picked up like he just stepped into a firefight. 

Harvey picks up a box of files that were really probably just fine where they already were. "I'm gonna go check on Nygma or something. You know, something that don't involve me being here right now. Take your time." 

Jim shoves his chair back from his desk, probably harder than necessary, walks over to head Oswald off. Because this is _not_ turning into a scene in the middle of the precinct. He's been there, done that, worked out that there's no way for it to end pretty for anyone involved. 

He hurries down the stairs to the lower level where Oswald waits for him, stopping at least a foot away. Close enough not to be rude. Far enough that he can pretend he's safe. 

"It's good to see you, old friend," Oswald says, smiling broadly. Like he has any right to call Jim that, has any right to be here in the first place. 

"What are you doing here?" Was he _trying_ to give him a heart attack, or was that just a bonus? 

"I wanted to invite you to a party I'm hosting." Definitely trying, then. 

He reaches for Jim's hand, covers it in his own as he hands him the invitation with the other. Jim's fairly certain he's stopped breathing. His cheeks are burning, even as Oswald begins to withdraw his hand. 

His fingers catch on Jim's bandage. Now he's holding Jim's hand with both of his own, turning it, holding it up towards the light to get a better look. "What happened here?" His eyes flick up to Jim's face, and he feels pinned by the intensity of the gaze. 

"Gotham." Best to be economical with his words when stringing them together has suddenly become incredibly hard. 

Oswald tsks. "I would tell you to be more careful, but I fear these type of injuries are unavoidable in our line of work." He offers another smile, still holding Jim's bandaged hand in his own, as though he'd forgotten he was doing so. Jim would bet his badge he hasn't. 

Jim should say something. Should be taking offense at Oswald's mention of ' _our_ line of work,' should already have a biting remark on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't. He doesn't trust himself to speak at all, really. 

He feels seventeen again, desperate to impress Roxy Cooper, the girl who drove to school on a motorcycle she's built herself from spare parts. Known that 'spare parts' wasn't the whole truth of it. Seen sharp cheekbones and tight leather and a wicked smile and didn't remember to care. 

"I hope you'll come. It won't be the same without you." He finally let's go of Jim's hand. 

"I'll think about it." Now that proper thought's an option again. Now that he doesn't feel like he'd promise Oswald anything just to keep him closer, keep him smiling at Jim like that. 

"Don't think too long. Doors open at seven." 

Jim turns to leave, but Oswald reaches out for him again. Gets ahold of Jim's wrist, slim fingers wrapping around his pulse point. "Oh, my apologies. I'd almost forgotten. If you wouldn't mind, I'd be most grateful if you could do me a favor. Just a small thing, nothing you couldn't a manage without too much time or trouble. I've written the details inside you invitation. It would be such a relief not to have it weighing on my mind this evening. I want to be able to devote my full attention to the night's festivities; I wouldn't want to forget to save you a dance. Would you do that for me, James? As a friend?" 

Jim swallows. "Like I said, I'll think it over." 

"That's all I would ask of you." He releases Jim's arm, straightens his jacket. Turns on his heel and walks out the door. 

It's a lie. Jim isn't gonna think it over. Doesn't even need to read the note inside the invitation to know what his decision will be. Heaven and hell and high water can't stop him from getting to Oswald's club tonight. 


End file.
